Sleeping Beauty
by SweetDeamon
Summary: A Gothic Horror short story in the style of Angela Carter. I wrote this for AS coursework, and yes I am aware that it is weird, but I was given an A and decided what the hell, I'll post it! WARNING - You may never eat strawberry jam again!


_Note: This was the story which I wrote for my AS English Language and Literature Coursework and got an A for once! We studied the Gothic Horror writer Angela Carter and read her book "The Bloody Chamber" Carter's stories are all based on fairy tales and our task was to produce a short story in the style of Carter along with a commentary, never fear I shall not bore you with the latter! I hope somebody enjoys reading this, even if it is rather weird!_

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**Sleeping Beauty**

As the world swam before my fast closing eyes I reveled momentarily in the peaceful silence of my bedroom, before it was shattered by the sound of breaking glass. The small bottle I had held so carefully in both hands now lay broken on the cold stone floor, letting its contents seep out between the shards of glass like a creeping crystalline shadow. Through the gaps in my heavy lids my gaze drifted upwards to the ceiling as I fell backwards, onto the cool linen of my bed. As sleep began to cloud my senses I felt glad for the soft landing, yet found it dismally ironic. Here is a symbol of my life's downward spiral, breaking my fall. For these crisp, freshly pressed sheets reek of wealth and money, the blessing bestowed on me at birth because of my father's success. This blessing had lead to another, though now, wandering through dreams, I see it for what it really was: a curse. If it were not for my father's wealth I imagine very few would consider marrying me, a troubling thought to the young indeed. Yet, I find myself concerned with this no longer, my adult self had burst free as soon as my head had reached the bed.

I danced in a field of silver grass that was soft underfoot and swayed in a breeze I could not feel. There are many things we do not feel whilst dreaming, my mother had explained when putting me to bed one night many years previously, and so we have nothing to fear of slumber. This is the true reason I long for sleep, to gain a sort of numb feeling, to escape from the sunlit hours where feelings rain down upon us like a barrage of arrows. Such is the life when one is to be married. Excitement distorts the world around you, the plans, the dresses, the guest list and of course the notion that you are truly desired. Only when asleep do I see the situation for what it really is. This is not the marriage I want. So I turn to a sleeping draught once again, with the desperate longing to restore my sanity mere minutes prematurely.

I first beheld him late that March, the frost still glistened on the grass and crunched under his booted foot as he walked in the gardens of my father's house. From behind the sanctuary of the dull white curtains, in an upstairs hallway I spied upon him, my breath held as if any noise from me would make him turn and look up at me. I both feared and longed for him to do so, for he walked with his back to me and my mind clouded more and more at each step that he took, like the breath he expelled into the chill of the morning. My mind was never quite clear again, even once his slow, broad bestial figure had strode out of sight. I stared long and hard at the soft prints in the snow he had left behind, soft as though he walked upon padded paws. Some minutes passed and I was pulled from my trance by my mother beckoning me from the stairs below. Breakfast, she had called, was waiting.

I watched him as he smeared deep, red, strawberry jam onto toast, expressing to my mother what a charming painting hung on the opposite wall. I sat almost mesmerized as the bloody stained bread glistened momentarily before he lifted it to his lips and took a solid bite. The sound of the bread being torn by his teeth seemed amplified to me and it felt as if he were tearing at my heart. I endured this ritual for a great number of mornings, sipping my milky tea and peering at him from over the rim of the cup. In the light of the morning I found him intriguing and his presence simply magical, yet I could never be quite sure why.

In the ghostly light of the moon I saw it anew. His eyes seemed greedy as they looked upon me and the tearing sent a shiver down my spine. The room drew dark and mysterious and I wondered what lurked in the shadowy corners. Yet I would wake, and when I saw him again he would make me smile and laugh, and present me with tokens that blotted out the dreams. In the daylight excitement ensnared me, and when he proposed it pulled my strings, and I accepted.

Maid bought wine to my bedroom to celebrate, and a large package wrapped in tissue paper, adorned with a great black ribbon. Inside, I found as I pulled the paper open, was a wedding gown. Better slip it on, Maid explained, so she could see how it lay. My mother had worn it, she said, as she uncorked the wine and poured a generous amount into my glass. I soon found myself stood in front of the mirror in the corner of the room. Through a veil of dust I peered at my reflection, and to me it was faded. I turned to get a view of my back, only to trip on a hem and loose hold of the goblet. I stared down in dismay and watched the new ruby edition to my dress consume the material adorning my thighs. Now how was a girl to be married in such an abomination? I looked up, and my eyes fell on the small bottle of sleeping draught on the dressing table to my right. On the surface of the glass my face seemed twisted and sickly, trapped inside, the liquid suffocating. How like my waking hours that was, and also, it dawned on me, how like my sleep. Was I never to be free? No, not whilst I drifted along, resigned to fate as I had been. Perhaps Mother had been wrong, we have much to fear from our dreams. We can escape to them, yes, but ultimately they deceive us for we have not escaped at all. Averting my eyes firmly in the other direction my mind became set. I would not marry in this dress, I was certain. As a matter of fact, I would not marry at all. I shred the dress as a serpent does skin and chose a fresh dress from the wardrobe. As Maid returned to see to the dress she found it in a heap on the floor. I spared her no words as I marched from the room, down to the hallway and out of the house. At last I had woken up to my life.


End file.
